The Scarman Enigma

[Robert Merlow]

Transporter Room Zero, Deck 1

Hurst and Connors met up in front of the door to the VIP Transporter room, reserved for use by the Admiralty and special guests. Hurst looked over Connors, noticing the shot in his shoulder.
"You alright there?" She asked questioningly, drawing another explosive to breech the doors.
"I'll live for the moment." He replied sarcastically.
He injected himself with a little adrenaline, to forget about the pain and focus his reflexes. He locked another magazine in his blaster pistol, wincing from the pain. Hurst placed the explosives on the door and motioned to move away. He nodded, but as they began to walk away, the door slid open. General Thomas Serov stood there, his .45 Liberty Military Pistol-Automatic (LMP-A) raised and pointed at their backs. Beside him stood Seras Victoria, her knives flared from her hands, four in each. Connors spun around and fired his blaster pistol at the duo, sure that his well placed shots would connect before they knew what hit them.

Serov stood firm, not taking any evasive action to the surprise of Connors and Hurst both. In a nanosecond, the two shots connected with his skull, seeming to have killed him. The second bolt hit Seras square in the head, splattering her brains all over the wall behind her. Connors and Hurst smiled as the bodies slumped to the floor. They were sure of victory as they approached the open room, their weapons drawn.

"I'm sorry, we're not quite dead." a voice behind them said. The bodies disappeared before them, their eyes blinked in amazement. Hurst spun around this time, her gauss rifle held at her hip. When she was completely around, Victoria was right behind her. She kicked the rifle from her hands, smashing it against the wall of the hallway. Connors raised his pistol to retaliate, only to have his hand nearly blown off from a burst from Serov's pistol. Hurst, in a bitter rage, lunged at Victoria, a knife in both hands.

To her, the world began to slow down as she focused on the moment ahead. She threw her knives with the force to sever limbs at Hurst's legs. The two knives struck true, cutting through the thick muscle and bone in Hurst's legs. It seemed as though she was falling apart before her, the legs falling cleanly off of her body, a line of blood sprayed on Connors and the wall behind him. Her focus faded, the room seeming to slip back into real time. Hurst fell before her, screaming in agony as blood poured from her legs. The two bloody stumps kicked around fruitlessly, trying to move him on nothing. Connors was frozen, for the first time in his life truly afraid. His comrade, one of the most fearless Black Flag Corsairs literally fell apart in front of him in the blink of an eye.

Serov kept his pistol trained on him, "Stand down. You're finished." he said, "Hand on your head and on your knees." He stood there, completely frozen in fear. Serov aimed his weapon lower, "I'll pop you in the knee if you don't get down." He cooperated silently, astounded. Victoria walked over to Serov, grabbing her knives from the wall, sheathing them. She stepped over Hurst's bled out body.
"Well, that certainly takes care of that." She said, cleaning her knives.

---

Commander in Chief of the Migrant Fleet / Former Fleet Admiral of the Liberty First Fleet
Second Survivor of the Mentat Program.
We must give and take with good measure. Give too much, we become complacent. Take too much, we incur the wrath of our own. Tread Lightly.
--Supreme Bashar Robert Merlow--